


Pieces of Us

by FoxfireRose



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anger, Angst, Broken, F/M, Fluff, Hurt, Love, Pain, Pieces, Regret, Sadness, Sorrow, Support
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-23
Updated: 2017-02-23
Packaged: 2018-09-26 10:38:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9890825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoxfireRose/pseuds/FoxfireRose
Summary: Dean's been on edge lately and recently, you've noticed that he's growing distant. You've been fighting, arguing, and he's pushed you away. Finally, he breaks and disappears. Hours later, you find him in a hotel room, broken. It's time to get on the mend, to put humpty dumpty back together again. It's time to start healing, and that starts with love and support.





	

“Dean?” My voice gave a small tremor despite my efforts to conceal my emotions. As my eyes roved the room, I bared witness to each broken lamp, each shattered mirror, each electronic that had been thrown against the wall and busted in anger, in desperation. In my mind’s eye, I could see each item’s demise, how each thing in this room had been thrown to its destruction until it shattered and broke into so many pieces that I couldn’t ever dream to piece them back together again. When my irises finally alighted on the man I had called for, I saw that he too was shattered, beaten, and broken into unrecognizable shards. 

He held his head in his hands and his elbows were planted firmly, and somehow weakly, on the top of his denim-clad legs. His hair was disheveled and just as messy as the emotions that roiled from the remnants of the man on the edge of that motel bed. When he finally raised his head to look at me, it was with a thinly veiled sense of horror and realization that I, of all people, had been the first to find him. I, of all people, had been the one to pick up on his trail despite all of the precautions he’d used to avoid everyone.

“Dean,” I repeated his name, this time with a gentleness that lent itself to worry. I crossed the room, ignoring the crunching of the objects beneath my boots and the shake of his head to stay away. I didn’t give him a chance to back away again; I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and pulled his head to my middle. As one of my hands began to stroke at his head, I shuffled myself closer, to stand between his knees, until all he knew was the fabric of my shirt. 

His hands found my waist and for a moment I thought he would push me away again, that he would demand that I leave for my own safety. I readied myself for another fight, for another argument, and for more tears. Instead, he seemed to freeze in time. His breath hitched and the clock on the wall almost seemed to stutter a tick. “(Y/N),” his voice croaked out, barely audible. “You should get out of here. I’m-”

“Shut up, Dean.” My hand stilled against his hair long enough to pick out a shard of glass before it resumed its path through his tresses. “I’m not going anywhere. Not now, not ever. Understand? I won’t  _ let  _ you be alone, no matter how hard you try.” I bent my head down and pressed my lips to the center of his head and I let my eyes close. He smelled of booze and regret, of sweat and shame. He smelled like a man who’d given up on himself and decided to drink away everything, to fight away his feelings. “I won’t leave you, Dean. I can’t.” I sucked in a breath. “Not after these past few years. I won’t let you throw yourself away after all of the things we’ve been through. After the many times you’ve pulled me from the fire, from the edge, you think I’d let you burn or jump?” 

Dean shifted and I was surprised to feel his arms circle my waist and pull me ever closer. I was surprised to feel that a wetness had pooled at my belly button and that he raised his head to look up at me. I saw the mask fall, the wall between me and his emotions crumble, and I felt my own heart throb in pain at the anguish I saw in my love’s eyes. “I could kill you. I could kill Sam.” His eyes flickered away and he made an attempt to pull away. “It’s best if-”

“Dean Winchester,” I said his name with love and faith, with patience and kindness. My hands moved to rest against his cheeks and I pulled his eyes up to mine again. “You are not past saving, and never will be. You are not done fighting; you can’t be done fighting. You’re Dean  _ Frickin’  _ Winchester, the best hunter in the world, the savior of the world, the righteous man. You’re Dean  _ Frickin’  _ Winchester, killer of monsters and guardian of the innocent. You’re Dean  _ Frickin’  _ Winchester, a brother to a scared boy, the son of a hunter and a mechanic, the boyfriend of a lost girl who found a home in you. You’re the friend to an Angel, a comrade of a Demon, and butt buddies with a Vampire. You’ve blurred lines that others were terrified to even look at. You took monsters and made decent people of them. You took Soldier Angels and turned them into beings with free will, beings who can learn what it is to feel and love and be happy.” My breath hitched and I realized that a few tears had fallen over my soft smile. “You’re Dean  _ Frickin’ _ Winchester, the light of my life and my hero. My lover, my better half, my  **_home_ ** .” 

As I choked on my tongue, I realized that the tears Dean now shed were not only of pain but of relief that he would not be alone, that he was not worthless in at least  _ one  _ person’s eyes. I saw a fraction of hope light his green irises, and even as I leaned down to press my lips against his, I knew that he’d not move from this spot for a while. 

So, I pulled away and wrapped my arms around his neck again. I pulled him to myself again, and felt relief when he let his forehead fall against my shirt and his hands clutch at the fabric of my shirt at the small of my back. I let him hold onto me as tightly as he wanted, as he needed, for as long as he needed. I didn’t dare pull away, for fear of breaking him again. 

With each pat of my hand on his head, I hoped that I would soon be able to pick up the pieces of us and glue them back together one by one. I hoped that, someday, he would heal from this pain, from this anguish, and he would be happy again. 

One day, we would  _ all  _ be happy again. I just knew it. 


End file.
